Page 23 of Under Cover
Then Garcia saw it—an in. Crosby put his foot out wide and a little pigeon-toed, opening up his legs for a takedown, and Garcia went all in.
Only to find himself on his back while Crosby straddled his torso and held his hands over his head, an apologetic smile on his face.
“Nice try,” he said encouragingly. “You gotta watch out for the thunder thighs, though.” He flexed his muscular thighs and glutes. “It makes a takedown through the legs a little harder. Center of gravity is wonky. My turn?”
Garcia nodded mutely and hoped Crosby didn’t think he was sweating too much. Because he was. Sweating. Because being that close, that intimately, with Judson Crosby and his muscular tree-trunk thighs wasnotgood for his equilibrium, although it seemed to begreatfor his libido.
They circled some more, and then Crosby straightened, smiling thoughtfully. “Hey, did you want to go for takeout after work? My roommate’s having another party, and Gail and her roommate are having a girl’s night. I’d love to not go back to my apartment yet.”
Garcia straightened, trying not to show his delight. “Sure, man. I don’t got—”
And he found himself tied into a delicate knot, his face against the mat as Crosby pretended to restrain him.
And he was even more delighted. “Man, that’sdirty!” he complained. But smart. And funny. And it was the kind of thing that implied they were friends and more, partners.
“Yeah, but it worked,” Crosby said, straddling his back. “So, what kind of takeout did you want?”
“Thai,” Garcia said promptly. “We got some of the best places in Queens. Let me show you around, Chicago. We’ll treat you right.”
“Great!” Crosby released him and then set up for the next takedown. “I promise not to do that to you again,” he said, and for a moment, their good-natured sparring was completely sober. “I, uh, only do that shit with friends.”
“Count me in,” Garcia said. His heart was still hammering from Crosby’s strong “thunder thighs” straddling his hips, and he had memorized the little gold fleck in Crosby’s right eye after their first encounter.
It was a good thing they were both wearing cups, because otherwise, this whole exercise would be a lot less goddamned fun.
THE NEXTday Garcia was awakened at five in the morning by his phone buzzing insistently with Foreigner’s “Urgent,” which was his ringtone for work. He yawned and stretched reluctantly—gah! He’d heard about calls at fuck-you a.m., but this was his first.
“Garcia,” he mumbled. Did his bed—new in the old Queens house—smell like sex? He’d beendreamingof sex. He’d beendreamingof Judson Crosby’s big thunder thighs straddling his head while Garcia took his entire cock down his open throat, and it was by far the most graphic, sweaty,detailedsex dream he could ever remember having.
And now he had to go in to work?
“Hey, Garcia?”
Like he was summoned by Garcia’s dreams alone, Crosby’s Chicago tenor came across loud and clear.
“The hell’re you doin’ there?” Garcia asked because he was calling from the work number.
“I was sleeping on the couch,” Crosby said through a yawn. “I was here when the alerts started pinging like crazy. We’ve got a guy who walked into an ob/gyn clinic where the doctor and staff were setting up for the day and shot his wife’s doctor in the head. He’s got his two daughters in the car with him, and we think they’re headed to Westbury. Harding gave me permission as I called you to come pick you up and try to cut them off. Harding lives in Great Neck. He’s working to set up roadblocks, and Gail and Swan will meet us there.”
“Who’s running point?”
“Chadwick. He’s coming from Jersey, so he’ll be in office soon. Carlyle’s riding with you and me.” Which made sense because Carlyle had an apartment on the Upper West Side—he’d reach the office before Crosby could get to the garage to check out a vehicle.
“Shotgun,” Garcia said grimly, throwing off the covers. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”
“Deal,” Crosby said. “Make sure you eat.”
“Deal. Out.” Garcia figured he had about half an hour before he needed to be outside on the steps. Was that time enough to take a shower? It had to be if he didn’t want to smell like the come that caked his lower abdomen now when he hopped in the car with Crosby.
Island of Hope
GARCIA WASsitting out on the step in the early November chill, a travel mug of coffee in one hand and an english muffin in the other as Crosby pulled up.
Crosby glared at Joey Carlyle in the passenger seat, who gave him a disbelieving stare back. “But I brought coffee!” Carlyle complained, gesturing to the three giant spill-proof paper cups in the holder. “And sausage biscuits for all of us!” Joey’s thin, appealing face and boyish features probably got him laid a lot and most definitely had gotten him out of scrapes when he’d been a kid, but Crosby knew where his duty lay.
“You were a totally stand-up guy,” Crosby said, meaning it, “and I hope to return the favor many, many times. But you do not understand how completely possessive Garcia can be about?”
“Move,” Garcia said, opening the passenger door. “You’re a good guy, we owe you, but I’m the partner. Git.”
